


Admiration, Inspiration, Prison Breakination

by jugglingeese



Category: Les Trois Mousquetaires | The Three Musketeers - Alexandre Dumas, The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Serial Killers, M/M, Obsessive Behavior
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-09
Updated: 2014-06-09
Packaged: 2018-02-04 02:04:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 892
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1762495
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jugglingeese/pseuds/jugglingeese
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Athos is a serial killer. So is d'Artagnan. Identicals attract.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Admiration, Inspiration, Prison Breakination

**Author's Note:**

> Everyone loves a serial killer AU, and I couldn't get this idea out of my head.

Athos knows he’s irredeemable. He knows it every time he sights along the barrel of his gun, every time he watches another person drop to the ground, the pool of blood spreading inexorably until, even though Athos is a street away, he can taste the copper tang of it under his tongue. He knows that he has sacrificed everything in making murder his life’s work, that he can never come back from this.  
In the beginning, it seemed the only way to continue. When he buried his brother and strangled the culprit, his own wife, he knew that murder was all he was good for, now. He’d chosen his targets, women mostly, people who made it a business to destroy other people’s lives. Whether financial or emotional, he didn’t particularly care. In the act of killing, he found himself again. It was a release, an exercise of his control over not only his own life, but that of his victims.  
Until he saw the boy on the news, he’d never considered it an act of joy.  
Charles D’Artagnan was not old enough to be a man. His eyes were too bright, his spine was too straight, his smile far too childlike - particularly since the first time Athos had seen it, D’Artagnan had been in the process of removing a mobster’s head.  
At first, he’d been interested in the boy purely as a potential target. However, the coverage made it clear that he chose his victims as carefully as Athos did his own. Murderers. Gang members. People smugglers. After that discovery, Athos moved his hiding place, concerned that the boy would come after him.  
D’Artagnan was like nothing Athos had ever seen before. He showed himself, often and carelessly, smiling at security cameras and tourists taking photographs of the Champs d’Elysees. He preferred his kills close up and messy, and became infamous for filming the murders himself if there were no convenient cameras in the vicinity. He stayed in Paris, apparently never straying from the city, inasmuch as the police could tell.  
It was all a bit hyperbolic really, Athos thought whenever he saw the latest news update on the Gascony Slasher - for d’Artagnan was actually using his real name, and had made no secret of his origins. It was careless work, Athos knew, reckless and stupid and fuelled by the kind of rage that didn’t allow you to back down even when every thread of logic screamed that you should. And yet Athos couldn’t stop himself from watching the story unfold. When his own kills became barely acknowledged on the news, pushed into the background by d’Artagnan’s antics, Athos found that he didn’t care. He spent less time on his own work anyway now, and more time online, watching the boy’s every move, tracking down youtube clips and stories from obscure sites.  
It was a new kind of obsession. When Athos watched d’Artagnan at work, he felt more relaxed, more at peace than he had in a long time. When d’Artagnan grinned fiercely after a kill, Athos felt his pleasure, felt his righteous fury. He felt justified when he let one of his victims live, knowing that d’Artagnan was out there somewhere taking up the slack.  
When eventually, inevitably, d’Artagnan was tracked down and caught, Athos drank himself into near-oblivion.  
It was three days before he was conscious enough to remember anything. D’Artagnan had confessed, and according to the police present at the time, he’d done it smiling. Athos felt his heart filling with pride for the boy he’d never met, and his eyes tracked almost unconsciously to the wardrobe where he kept his gear.  
No, he thought before the idea had even formed, but the idea was persistent. Why not, it asked? Why couldn’t he do it?  
Athos realised that he couldn’t think of an answer. He rolled into a standing position and reached for his jacket. After all, even if he was caught or killed in the act, he knew he wouldn’t be able to find it in himself to regret it.  
That was that, then. He was going to break a serial killer out of jail.

D’Artagnan listens to the sounds outside his cell with increasing interest. It sounds like some kind of fight is going on, but he can’t tell how many people are involved. He shakes his wrists, irritated by the cold metal encircling them. Were he not handcuffed, he knows he would be more than a match for anyone here. His father had taught him everything he knew before he was killed, and the man on the news had taught him how to channel his revenge.  
The noise outside quietens, and then d’Artagnan hears the buzz of his cell door being unlocked. He stands, tensing.  
But when the door swings open, the man on the other side is neither guard or prisoner.  
“Athos,” d’Artagnan greets his visitor, hiding his surprise behind a head tilt. He watches as the older man blinks in bemusement.  
“You know me?”  
“Of course,” d’Artagnan says, smiling. “Your work has been … inspirational.”  
He watches as the corner of Athos’ mouth twitches, and it is only just then that he realises just how attractive his mentor-from-afar really is.  
“We should leave,” Athos says, holding out a hand to d’Artagnan.  
“I agree,” d’Artagnan says, taking it. “We have a lot of work to do.”


End file.
